Fools and Dolls
by Dollfayce
Summary: The Fool symbolizes potential. To become anything. But what has Glitch become, and how can DG relate? DG/Ambrose.


He always had the appearance of someone lost from the circus

FOOLS AND DOLLS

DG was not used to turning to him for help these days. And he had changed so much. A certain coolness in his eyes, regarding her. Even that word, "regarded." She had never known him to regard anything. Look, gaze, stare helplessly, hopelessly, drink in, even. Never that distance before. She wished she remembered what he had been like when she was a child.

If that even would have helped.

Her mother had assured her that this dance was not a large affair, and she would have nothing to worry about. But even with all her scoffing about the pointlessness of royal function—and even that was cliché—she still felt utterly insecure and lost. Her sister was not present, and her mother was busy enough. All the lords and ladies were whirling and twirling in their finest, happy to have something to celebrate again. Of course they were all SO anxious to hear her story. Or rather, to make themselves known and to start currying favor with her immediately.

Any sort of familiar face would have been welcome.

Seeking out Ambrose was only inevitable. And although she made excuses to herself, she knew at some level she just wanted to corner him so he'd be forced to talk to her out of politeness. Things hadn't been the same, restored to his old self. His real self. Or something.

He always had—he used to have—the appearance of some sad thing lost all alone from some forgotten circus. Pale like paper, framed by inky curls, and the most clever melancholy black eyes. His nose was sharp and unexpectedly haughty, as were his lips—but they could curl into the most mischievous of grins. His lips were off-red, and his lashes were dark, and with his ragged grand clothes it all gave the impression of some painted marionette left long ago to a dusty attic.

Now he was different.

Her old friend was more difficult to find then she had originally thought. Of course she had forgotten how much he loved dancing. DG waited as unobtrusively as she could against a wall, trying to pick him out in the crowd.

Unfortunately her tactic was spotty, and she had to keep moving to avoid more tedious conversation, distracting her from her goal. But eventually she spotted him, on the floor. The princess maneuvered herself so she'd be close to where he'd end up once the dance was done.

He _was_ called Glitch—this was not his name—because of the way his mind sometimes didn't work. He was not who he had once been—and the tragedy was, he couldn't even remember. DG knew that feeling too well. She would grow to know and love the qualities he did retain, though. Loyalty, friendliness, bravery. The urge to protect her. Even that slightly effete pompousness that would creep into his demeanor in spite of himself.

Now he was Ambrose—the same man, all dusted off and repainted. A man whose eyes glittered not with mischief, but quicksilver. He was so bright. The whole world in his head and at his fingertips. The slight tendency to effeminacy turned to a sort of unknowable decadence quite disturbingly at home now in that slim pixie face. More sad then ever before, because he remembered more than ever before. And more distant.

Now they were not friends. Now she was just the little girl he had protected and served since she was born.

The girl he had lost his mind for.

DG approached him, tentatively. There was nothing concrete to explain her reticence. They had fought, laughed, slept side by side. But still.

Ambrose, catching her eye, smiled encouragingly and bid farewell to the pretty young thing he had been dancing with.

"DG!" he said, taking her hands briefly. "You look lovely!" She did.

"Thanks, Ambrose," she said in her low flat voice. "You look nice, too." And he did.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked, extending his arm. Something about the formality to his smile made her sick.

"No thanks," she said wanly. "I thought I could just camp out here with you for a minute." She leaned up, casual, against a wall. As if they were out on the road again instead of at some pointless function.

Ambrose's lips tightened into some sort of smirk, but he joined her.

"Enjoying the dance?" he asked. "You look, if I might say, a little uncomfortable."

She rolled her eyes. "You certainly don't."

"I'm sorry, I hope I haven't done something to offend?"

DG had no idea what to say to that. "Ambrose.." she said, and still the name felt wrong. "I haven't talked to you really in weeks."

"We've both been busy," he said. "Things will settle down soon." He was using his official diplomatic voice, the one he used to placate everyone from servants to the queen.

The girl sighed. "Really," she said. "I don't think they will. Like I said, I haven't talked to you in an embarrassingly long time. Not that you owe it to me or anything. I just figured we were friends."

He blinked. "We _are_ friends. But—" and he bit back his words.

"But what?"

"We—" and he seemed at a loss again, a rare occurrence.

"Well, let's have it."

"I will speak bluntly," Ambrose said. "I fancy that you're expecting everything to stay the same, that easy camaraderie we had on the road."

"No I'm not."

"Maybe not consciously. But somewhere inside, definitely. And, my darling DG, it can never be like that. Our lives have changed." He touched his forehead. "We've changed."

"Seems like a lame excuse to avoid me, is all I'm saying."

"Don't be foolish," he said. There was a silence, as both watched the other couples dance. It looked rather pointless from the sidelines.

He turned to her, with a smile. "May I ask for this dance?"

She paused. "Sure, I guess."

He offered his arm, and like the lady she was supposed to be, she took it gently. He led her out, and they began to dance.

It was like all the movies she had seen when she lived on the other side. Her hand in his, his arm tentatively around her waist, her other hand on his slim shoulders.

The other difference was how he touched her. She wouldn't have thought she would have noticed something like this, until it changed. Glitch had been carelessly affectionate, always polite, but with no thought of propriety. Ambrose treated her—well, like she was made of glass. Maybe it was a side effect of him knowing her as a child. Maybe it was something else.

He had called her Doll. Now he called her Princess.

They didn't speak for a while.

For some reason—just to test things, maybe—she moved in closer, her eyes on him. He called her bluff, and pulled her in even closer, black eyes staring down blue. It was a confusing game she would never have been able to play with Glitch. Not that it would have occurred to her to.

Suddenly she laughed. He raised an eyebrow in question.

"So do you know what I was thinking about the other day?"

"No."

"I was thinking about Raw and how he can read minds, and see the future, and awesome stuff like that? And how we humans can't at all, even though we try so hard."

"Profound."

"No it isn't, but I'm not finished. Anyway it made me miss my old Tarot cards my crazy friend gave to me when we were like fourteen. I didn't believe in them or anything but I thought they were so cool so I researched them."

"Tarot?" She could see him try to access the information, which offered no problems nowadays. "Oh, a Marseilles deck."

"Yeah. You know it?"

"Enough."

"So I was thinking about all of us, and that archetypal discover yourself road trip crap that we all accidentally went on. And I thought of you, and I thought of the first card."

"The fool."

"Yeah."

Again he pulled it all up from his head immediately. "Divine, childlike wisdom. The spirit in search of experience. Standing on a precipice. He is marked by zero—he can become anything when he reaches his destination."

DG smiled. "Yeah," she said. "Anything. Something I don't know."

One more silence. The dance ended, and they stopped, though they pulled apart slowly. DG was mildly surprised she had never noticed how long and fine-boned his hands were.

"I'm no fool, DG," he said softly. "Not anymore."

"No," she said. "Not anymore, you're not…" And she stepped back. "And, Ambrose, I'm sad about that."

"That's selfish." There was a darkness in his expression that she had never seen before.

"I don't—I don't know you anymore!"

The darkness remained. Ambrose tilted his head and his quicksilver gaze ran over his features.

"What do you want me to be?" he asked. "For me to be your pet? Your advisor? Your friend? Something else?"

She was frowning. "I don't know. I don't know you."

"I have not changed so much," he said. "As royal advisor, I suggest you stop complaining to me until you know what you want." His pale features seemed downright icy for a moment, until he saw how offended she was. They softened.

"I'm sorry, DG," he said. "I didn't mean anything. You know how much I care about--"

"Save it," she said, and turned and strode off.

Ambrose was distinctly frustrated. He bit his lip and folded his arms, before he caught himself. It was too late, though, someone had seen that most un-royal display of emotion.

The queen was beside him, laughing, her light hand on his shoulder. "And you say you're not a fool, Ambrose," she said.

"Your Majesty?"

"I hope you'll use that great mind of yours better in the future."

"I'm not sure I undertand."

"Then the more foolish you are." She left him, standing quite alone.

He was being disingenuous. He knew exactly what she has talking about. Both women.

_The more fool, I, indeed, _he thought.

A/N—Tin Man. Wow. Never thought this would happen. I want to continue this, if it's going anywhere good.


End file.
